


Hit Me

by fotoshop_cutout



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fotoshop_cutout/pseuds/fotoshop_cutout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Pre-slash/Build up] Derek's gotten shot again, but this time he's sitting comatose at a hospital while his pack tries to find some sort of antidote. Stiles won't leave his bedside, so their main researcher is out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With Your Best Shot

**Author's Note:**

> For [samanthapetrelli](http://samanthapetrelli.tumblr.com/) on tumblr who prompted me for this.

The Jeep was on two wheels around the corner, swerving into the other lane as it came back down to all four and jarring the bleeding passenger nearly out of his seat. Derek's shoulder bumped against Stiles' and the human boy had to wonder why it was _his_ Jeep that had become the werewolf-only ambulance of Beacon Hills. Couldn't Scott have donated his Mom's car... or something? He curses and stomps his foot on the gas as the light turns yellow, laying on the horn as he blows through the intersection. Wouldn't you know it, that was his Dad sitting at a red light.

He didn't have time to think about it though, he just used his elbow to try to nudge the alpha werewolf awake. He didn't move. Didn't even growl, like he did when the whole pack was carting him to the Jeep and trying to sit him up in the passenger's seat. His eyes slanted open, landing on Stiles and the boy took that as his cue to talk, even as he noticed the lights blinking behind him and the sirens wailing. “Derek, come on man, wake up. You can't go fainting on me here. There's no way I can carry your dying ass into the ER all on my own, so wake up.”

Of course his eyes were already shut by the time Stiles had run out of semi-encouraging things to say to him. He made an irritated grumble in his throat and tried to elbow him into compliance again. It didn't pay off. He glanced in his rearview and cursed. His Dad looked torn between exasperated and pissed off. That didn't bode well. He multi-tasked and cranked the window down and waved his hand out the window, trying to tell his Dad to follow but let him keep going. He wasn't entirely sure the message got through. He took another high speed turn and almost ended up inside a store front. He spun out and nearly took out some pedestrians as he took an immediate right. He gunned it, steadily climbing the small hill and swerving violently into the ER parking lot. His Dad rolled in right behind him.

He wasn't sure _how_ , exactly, but he would have to not only explain Derek's state of... comatose?... but his reckless driving and not pulling over for his Dad. His Dad met him at his passenger side door with a bellow.

“STILES WHAT THE HE—” Meanwhile, Stiles had opened the door and gotten a face full of Derek. Bleeding, dying and unconscious Derek. Not very appealing. He smelled like death, which incidentally explained the whole _dying_ part. Stiles was trying to adjust akimbo limbs and tilt his face away from breathing in Derek's shoulder in.

“Not right now, Dad, but I promise as soon as we get him some help I'll try.” His wide eyes and general panic likely sent his Dad into protective parent mode instead of worrying about something as minor as his son not following all of the traffic laws. His Dad reached around him while the EMTs were wheeling a stretcher out to them. Even when Derek was transferred to their completely capable hands, Stiles was right there, one hand on the werewolf's uninjured arm. It was only when his Dad peeled him away and forced him down in a chair that he parted from the werewolf.

“Just what happened, Stiles? How did he get like this?” His Dad, playing the Sheriff now, stood in front of him with his hands on his hips, gesturing toward the door they had wheeled Derek behind. Stiles should really be there. He knew more than they did about werewolf physiology—he should be monitoring—his eyes glanced back at his Dad and he sagged back in the chair.

“A hunting accident, Dad.” He brought his hand up, fingers trailing over the sweat-dampened skin at his hairline. He hadn't known, even as the words were coming out of his mouth, what his lie was going to be. His Dad gave him an appraising look.

“It isn't hunting season, Stiles, try again.” At this point his Dad was getting used to having to wheedle the truth from him. He didn't like the feeling of it. He sighed and averted his gaze.

“I shot him? A total accident, I swear—” This time wasn't going to fly either.

“You don't even get within three feet of my gun, Stiles, there's no way this was you. And you wouldn't have lied about it first.” He had a point there. Ms. McCall came to a full stop beside the Sheriff and looked between them.

“I hate to break this up, but what kind of poison is there. Please, please, please tell me you know.” Her intrusion wasn't unwelcome, until she mentioned the whole poison thing. Stiles rubbed his head vigorously to release some tension and looked her in the eyes as his Dad sputtered.

“Wolfsbane. I mean—Aconite. Yeah, aconite.”

Melissa nodded and zipped off again, leaving his Dad turning his gaze back on him. “ _Wolfsbane_ , Stiles? What the hell were you doing?”

Stiles gave a keening sort of noise in the back of his throat and leaned forward as if he was about to get up, one hand falling to check for his phone which was... _not_ in his pants. It was actually out in the damn _forest_ smashed to _bits_. He swept his gaze back up to his Dad.

“It was Mr. Argent, okay. He showed up and wanted to show Derek some new hunting equipment,” That was stretching the truth... a _lot_ , “I don't know how it happened, but then Derek was shot and he wasn't himself and we got him in the car.”

At that point he didn't have a lot else he could say. Anything more specific and he could essentially out everyone to his Dad, which meant the police knew, which meant chaos in Beacon Hills. His eyes were drawn to the doors Derek was behind. His Dad gave a huff, “You're telling me that Chris Argent was involved in this?”

Stiles shrugged helplessly and his Dad's lips tightened up in the way they did whenever he got irritated with his son. Stiles kicked his feet against the floor, scuffing his shoes. His Dad threw his hands up and walked away, pulling his cell phone out as he went.


	2. With That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter, sorry guys. Working on getting the next one out a lot quicker. Also, this got bigger.

The surgery was quick enough, but it was a couple of hours before they brought Stiles back. Derek was ashen, sickly and looked just about as bad as he had when he'd almost died from the wolfsbane-laced bullet from Kate Argent's gun. Shouldn't he back up and on his feet by now? Ms. McCall grasped his shoulder to get his attention.

“He should have woken up by now. Do you know anything else?” She was peering at him like he could possibly know what was keeping an _alpha werewolf_ down in a hospital bed. Not that she knew he was a werewolf and shouldn't even _be_ here. His knees were weak and he had to grip the armrest of the chair before sliding down into it. Worry for him was all across the nurse's features. “Was Scott involved in this? Would he know?”

It startled him, her conclusion—he looked up at her, lips parted slightly. He wet his lips with his tongue and nodded. “Y-yeah, he might know.”

Her disappointment made him feel worse. Should he have lied? Said he hadn't been involved, no sir, that Stiles had been apart from him for once in his friggin' life? His eyes fell back on Derek. No, she could get in touch with Scott, and he might actually know what was going on, so he'd made the right call. He shot out of his seat, eyes lingering on Derek before he managed to tear them away, calling after her, “Can I talk to him?”

He followed her back to her desk, where she was picking up her phone with a pinched look. “No, Stiles.”

“Please?” He gasped, “My phone broke and I just need to let him know—”

Melissa interrupted him sternly, “I'll let him know. Now go sit down.”

He tried to think of an argument. Something, anything to get on the phone with Scott, but he just snapped his mouth shut, nodded and looked around as he pulled at his pants. There was crusted blood on the thigh of his jeans and he knew he should have been disgusted, but it hadn't really processed yet. Ms. McCall looked up from the phone. “Scott?” She broke away from the phone, eying Stiles now and covered the mouthpiece with her hand, “For God's sake, Stiles, go back and sit down with him. Just get out of my hair.”

With that admonishment, Stiles ducked his head and spun on his heel. It was no use trying to stick around to eavesdrop on the conversation and maybe get a message across, he'd just have to wait. He wandered back and sunk into the chair. He sat for several minutes, one hand over his mouth as he watched Derek for any sign of life. He drummed his fingers on the armrest.

He looks away. He looks back. He shifts in the uncomfortable seat. He looks toward the door. He scoots his chair closer to the side of the bed and watches Derek breathe. He leans forward and expels a lungful of air. He waits. He reaches out, certain that Derek will suddenly wake up and eat him if he touches him. With some amount of trepidation he pats Derek's arm.

“Come on, man. I need you to wake up. You need to be all better now. 'Cause the pack needs you and stuff.” He pauses and looks down at his scuffed up shoes, “I need you. Please, just be better already?”

But Derek doesn't answer, he doesn't do much of anything. He just lays there, pale and breathing. Stiles hunches over, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and crosses his arms in between Derek's arm and his side. He lays his head down, head tilted to the side to stare at Derek's face. Maybe it's a bit creepy, but he's stuck here waiting for the alpha to wake up. He watches and waits and listens to the beeping of the monitors and the idle chit-chat out in the halls. It lulls him off to sleep.

He wakes up when the door bursts open, revealing Scott, Erica and Isaac. They pile in and Stiles sits up suddenly, blinking away the tiredness as best he could. Erica must have changed clothes because last time he saw her she had bloody, torn clothing on. Scott lurches to a stop next to Stiles and kicks the leg of the chair he's sitting in. “Has he woken up?”

Stiles shakes his head, about to say something when Isaac crouches down by his other side. “Your Dad just interrogated us, you know. He said he knew that Chris Argent had something to do with it and if we had seen him.”

“Have you?” Stiles swung his gaze around to look at each of them. Erica shook her head, her long blond hair spilling over her shoulders.

“Not since the woods.” Scott answered solemnly. “Have you figured out what he's poisoned with?”

Stiles threw his hands up, a little exasperated with them. “How the hell am I supposed to know? I've been sitting here, waiting for him to wake up. I thought you were going to catch him and bring me a bullet.”

“Oh. Is that what you meant?” Scott was just so... if Stiles had longer hair, he would have been yanking at it by now.

“Yes, that's what I meant. What else would I have meant?” His voice may or may not have been raised. He loved Scott, he did, but he could be so frustrating sometimes.

“I don't know.” Great, now he sounded like a kicked puppy. Erica rolled her eyes and put her hand back on the door handle, glancing at Derek as she spoke.

“So do you want us to go find it or what?” She always sounded vaguely irritated. Stiles gestured toward the door.

“Be my guest.” As Scott and Erica started out the door, Isaac stalled on his way around him and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“Want me to bring food and research stuff?” Just like that Isaac became his favorite. Would a big Stilinski hug be proper in this situation? He opened his mouth to answer, but his Dad poked his head in-between Scott and Erica at the door and raised his eyebrows.

“Actually, I'll take Stiles to get something to eat. We need to _talk_ anyway.”

Well shit.


End file.
